Table Of ContentThe Project Gutenberg EBook of Narrative of a Journey Down the Ohio and
Mississippi in 1789-90, by Samuel S. Forman
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license
Title: Narrative of a Journey Down the Ohio and Mississippi in 1789-90
Author: Samuel S. Forman
Release Date: February 1, 2014 [EBook #44823]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY DOWN ***
Produced by Sam W. and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
NARRATIVE
OF A
JOURNEY
DOWN THE OHIO AND MISSISSIPPI
IN 1789-90.
BY
MAJ. SAMUEL S. FORMAN
WITH A MEMOIR AND ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES
BY
LYMAN C. DRAPER
CINCINNATI
ROBERT CLARKE & CO.
1888
————
I
E
COPYRIGHT.
————
PREFATORY NOTE.
ACKNOWLEDGE my indebtedness to a friend of the Forman family for calling my attention to the interesting
narrative of Major Samuel S. Forman’s early journey down the Ohio and Mississippi, and for aiding me in securing
a copy for publication. The manuscript of this monograph, as now presented, has been submitted to friends and
kindred of Major Forman, who knew him long and well, and they have accorded it their warm approval.
With their kind approbation, I feel encouraged to offer this little contribution to western historical literature to an
enlightened public.
L. C. D.
Madison, Wis.
MEMOIR
OF
MAJOR SAMUEL S. FORMAN.
VERY addition to our stock of information touching early western history and adventure, and of the pioneer
customs and habits of a hundred years ago, deserves a kindly reception. The following narrative of a journey
down the Ohio and Mississippi, in 1789-90, was not reduced to writing till 1849, after a lapse of sixty years; but
an unusually fine memory enabled Major Forman to relate such incidents of his trip as left a lasting impression upon him,
alike with interest and general accuracy. A sketch of the writer will give us a better insight into his trustworthiness and
character.
Major Forman, the third son of Samuel and Helena Denise Forman, was born at Middletown Point, Monmouth county,
New Jersey, July 21, 1765. He was too young to participate in the Revolutionary war, during the stirring period of
1776 to 1780, in New Jersey; but his elder brothers, Jonathan and Denise, were prominent and active throughout the
great struggle. Major Forman has recorded some incidents of the war that occurred in his region of New Jersey, and
within his own knowledge, worthy of preservation as interesting scraps of Revolutionary history. At one time, a cousin
of his, Tunis Forman, about seventeen years of age, met two Tory robbers, and after one had fired at him and missed,
he, getting the advantage of them in the adjustment of his gun, forced them to throw down their weapons, when he
marched them several miles before him, and lodged them in jail at Freehold. For this brave act, young Forman received
a large reward.[1]
[1] This incident, occurring in May, 1780, is related in Barber and Howe’s New Jersey Historical
Collection, 345-6. Back
During the period while Major Henry Lee and his famous Light Dragoons were serving in New Jersey, intelligence
came of the marauding operations of a band of Tory robbers, located in the extensive pine woods toward Barnegat, in
Monmouth county, whose head-quarters were at a secret cave in that region. Lee dispatched a select party of fearless
men, who approached the dangerous region in a farmer’s wagon, concealed under a covering of straw. Fagans, the
robber leader, with some followers, stopped the wagon to plunder it, when the concealed dragoons immediately put a
ball through Fagans’s head, and with his fall his associates fled. Fagans’s body was conveyed to Barkalow’s woods,
the usual place of execution for such culprits, and there exposed on a gibbet till the flesh dropped from the bones.
Mr. Forman mentions that his father, Samuel Forman, did not escape a visit from the Tories and British. At one time,
they made a descent upon the village of Middletown Point. There was a mill at this place, which was well known and
much resorted to for a great distance; and some of these Tory invaders had been employed in the erection of this mill,
and were personally well known to the citizens, and it would appear that their object was, at least, to capture Samuel
Forman, if not to kill him. They plundered the houses of the settlement, destroying what they could not carry off,
boasting that they had aided in building the mill, and now assisted in kindling the fire in the bolting box to burn it down.
They had surprised the guard placed for the protection of the place, killing several of their number, who had been their
schoolmates in former years. Samuel Forman eluded their vigilance, but lost heavily by this invasion, for he owned
[3]
[5]
[6]
[7]
almost all of one side of Middletown Point, and part of both sides of Main street. He never applied to Congress for any
remuneration for his losses. He died in 1792, in his seventy-eighth year. In this foray, the enemy burned two store-
houses of Mr. John H. Burrows, robbed his house, and took him prisoner to New York. After several months, he was
exchanged, and returned home.
My brother, Denise Forman, entered the service when he was about sixteen years old. He was in the battle of
Germantown—in which engagement eighteen of the Forman connection took part—where the Americans were badly
used, on account of the British having some light artillery in a large stone house. Our army had to retreat; when that took
place, Lieutenant Schenck, under whom brother Denise served, took Denise’s gun, and told him to take fast hold of his
coat, and cling to it during the retreat. General David Forman conducted himself so well, that General Washington
tendered his aid in securing a command in the Continental army; but General Forman declined the offer, as he believed
he could be more serviceable to remain with the militia in Monmouth county, New Jersey, as they were continually
harassed there by the enemy from Staten Island and New York.
After this, Denise Forman engaged under a Captain Tyler, who had charge of a few gun-boats that coasted along the
Jersey shore, to annoy and oppose the enemy. When the British fleet lay at anchor near Sandy Hook, Captain Tyler
went, in the night, and surprised a large sloop at anchor among the men-of-war. Tyler’s party boarded the sloop,
secured the sailors, weighed anchor, and got her out from the fleet, and took her up Middletown creek, all without any
fighting. The whole enterprise was conducted with so much judgment, that the sailor prisoners dared not speak or give
the least sign of alarm. “When we first touched the sloop,” said Denise Forman, “I felt for a moment a little streaked,
but it was soon over, and then we worked fearlessly to get the vessel under weigh, without alarming the fleet.” These
gun-boats were all propelled by muffled oars, that dipped in and out of the water so as to make no noise; nor did any of
the men speak above their breath. On the gunwale of the boat, a strip of heavy canvas was nailed, the inner edge having
been left unfastened, under which were concealed their swords, guns, and other implements for use in a combat, and so
placed that each man could, at an instant’s notice, lay his hand upon his own weapon. Even in port, the men belonging
to Tyler’s party were not allowed to talk or speak to other people, as a matter of precaution; and the captain always
spoke in an undertone, and if a man laid down an oar, it was always done as noiselessly as possible.
At one time, fifteen hundred British and Tories landed on Middletown shore, and marched from six to ten miles back
into the country. A beacon, placed on a conspicuous hill, was fired for the purpose of giving an alarm; and soon the
militia of the country, understanding the notice, gathered, and opposed the enemy. In Pleasant Valley they checked their
advance. Uncle John Schenck and brother Denise so closely cornered a British or Tory officer of this party in a barn-
yard, that he jumped from his horse, took to his heels and escaped, leaving his horse behind him.
Major Burrows[2] happened to be at home at that time, on a visit to his family. Some of the Americans dressed
themselves in British red coats, which had been captured. The Rev. Mr. DuBois, who, like a good patriot, had turned
out on this occasion, with his fowling-piece, when Major Burrows rode near by, eked out in British uniform; Mr.
DuBois spoke to Captain Schenck, his brother-in-law, “Look, there is a good shot,” and, suiting the action to the word,
took deliberate aim. Captain Schenck, better understanding the situation, quickly knocked up the clergyman’s gun, with
the explanation—“Don’t shoot; that’s Major Burrows.” Mr. DuBois supposed he was aiming at a British officer, within
point blank shot, who was endeavoring to rejoin his fellows.
[2] Major John Burrows was first a captain in Colonel David Forman’s regiment. Forman had the
nick-name of “Black David,” to distinguish him from a relative of the same name, and he was always
a terror to the Tories; and Captain Burrows, from his efficiency against these marauders, was called
by those enemies of the country, “Black David’s Devil.” January 1, 1777, Captain Burrows was
made a captain in Spencer’s regiment on Continental establishment; and, January 22, 1779, he was
promoted to the rank of major, serving in Sullivan’s campaign against the hostile Six Nations, and
remaining in the army till the close of the war. Several years after, he went on a journey to the
interior of Georgia, in an unhealthy season, when he probably sickened and died, for he was never
heard of afterward.
Major Burrows left an interesting journal of Sullivan’s campaign, which appears in the splendid
volume on that campaign issued by the State of New York, in 1887. The original MS. journal is
preserved by his grand-daughter, Mrs. Elizabeth Breese Stevens, of Sconondoa, Oneida county, New
York. Back
Denise Forman’s next move was to enlist with Captain Philip Freneau, the well-known poet, who sailed from
Philadelphia in a letter of marque, the Aurora, against British commerce on the high seas. While not long out, sailing
toward the West Indies, Freneau and his adventurous vessel were captured by their enemies, sent to New York, and all
incarcerated on board of the Scorpion, one of the prison ships floating in New York harbor and Wallabout Bay, its
unhappy prisoners experiencing almost untold horrors. Captain Freneau, at least, was subsequently transferred to what
he denominated “the loathesome Hunter.” These prison ships attained an unenviable reputation for maltreating and half-
starving their hapless and ill-fated victims, hundreds of whom died in consequence of their inhuman treatment. This sad
experience became the subject of one of Freneau’s subsequent poems, emanating from the depths of his embittered
soul recollections. Brother Denise used to relate to me, after his return home, that, when on the prison ship, he had to
shut his eyes whenever he ate the sea-biscuit or drank the water assigned him, so full were they of vermin! Freneau, in
his poem, thus alludes to the fare with which the poor prisoners were treated:
“See, captain, see! what rotten bones we pick.
[8]
[9]
[10]
[11]
What kills the healthy can not cure the sick.
Not dogs on such by Christian men are fed;
And see, good master, see that lousy bread!”
“Your meat or bread,” this man of flint replied,
“Is not my care to manage or provide;
But this, damn’d rebel dogs, I’d have you know,
That better than you merit we bestow.
Out of my sight!” No more he deigned to say,
But whisk’d about, and, frowning, strode away.
When the survivors were exchanged, after their long imprisonment, they were so weak and emaciated that they could
scarcely walk—perfect living skeletons; and my brother, after his return home, was confined to his bed, and for several
days nearly all hope of his recovery was abandoned; but he at length providentially recovered. Denise Forman received
a captain’s commission when a war was threatened with France, in 1798, and when the army was disbanded, he settled
on a farm in Freehold, where he spent the remainder of his days.
About 1790, Captain Freneau married my sister Eleanor. He was a prominent Anti-Federalist in his day, and edited
various Democratic papers at different places, and was for a time translating clerk in the State Department. While he
was able to translate the French documents, he found it cost him more than he received to get those in other foreign
languages properly translated, and after a while he resigned. He had in early life been a college-mate with James
Madison, at Princeton, and has been aptly called the “patriot poet” of the Revolution, his effusions having been useful to
the cause of the country during its great struggle for independence. He lost his life in a violent snow-storm, in December,
1832, in his eighty-first year, near Monmouth, New Jersey.
While attending grammar-school, the latter part of the Revolutionary war, at Freehold, young Forman records: The
hottest part of the battle of Monmouth was about this spot, where my brother-in-law, Major Burrows, lived after he left
the army, and with whom I and some fellow-students boarded. Our path to the school-house crossed a grave where a
remarkably tall British officer was buried. We opened the grave; a few pieces only of blanket, which encompassed the
corpse, remained. One school-mate, Barnes Smock, was a very tall person, but the thigh bones of this unfortunate
officer far outmeasured his. I believe this was the only engagement when the two opposing armies had recourse to the
bayonet,[3] and this was the place of that charge. The battle took place on the Sabbath. A British cannon ball went
through Rev. Dr. Woodhull’s church. Dr. Woodhull was now one of my teachers. The two armies lay upon their arms
all night after the battle. General Washington and General La Fayette slept in their cloaks under an apple-tree in Mr.
Henry Perrine’s orchard. It was Washington’s intention to have renewed the battle the next day, but the British, in the
course of the night, stole a march as fast as they could for their fleet at Sandy Hook.
[3] This is an error. Bayonet charges were resorted to by Morgan at the Cowpens, and in other
engagements. Back
In the spring of 1783, when peace was dawning, many of the old citizens of New York City, who had been exiled from
their homes for some seven years, began to return to their abandoned domiciles, even before the British evacuation.
Among them was Major Benjamin Ledyard, who had married my oldest sister. In September of that year, at the
instance of my sister Ledyard, I went to New York as a member of her family. Every day I saw the British soldiers.
Indeed, a young lieutenant boarded a short time in our family, as many families received the British officers as an act of
courtesy.
Even before the British evacuation, the American officers were permitted to cross over into the city, and frequently
came, visiting the coffee-houses and other places of public resort. Here they would meet British officers, and some of
them evinced a strong inclination to make disturbance with their late competitors, throwing out hints or casting
reflections well calculated to provoke personal combats. There was a Captain Stakes, of the American Light Dragoons,
a fine, large, well-built man, who had no fear about him. It was said, when he entered the coffee-house, that the British
officers exercised a wholesome caution how they treated him, after some of them had made a feint in testing his powers.
But it all happily passed over without harm.
It was finally agreed between General Washington and Sir Guy Carleton that New York should be evacuated
November 25th. In the morning of that day, the British army paraded in the Bowery. The Americans also paraded, and
marched down till they came very close to each other, so that the officers of both armies held friendly parleys. The
streets were crowded with people on an occasion so interesting. I hurried by the redcoats till I reached the Americans,
where I knew I would be safe. So I sauntered about among the officer. Presently, an American officer seized me by the
hand, when, I looking up at him, he said, encouragingly: “Don’t be afraid, Sammy. I know your brother Jonathan. He is
an officer in the same line with me, and my name is Cumming.”[4] He continued to hold me by the hand till orders were
given to advance. He advised me to keep on the sidewalk, as I might get run over in the street.
[4] This was John N. Cumming, who rose from a lieutenant to be lieutenant-colonel, commanding
the Third New Jersey Regiment, serving the entire war. Back
The British steadily marched in the direction of their vessels, while the Americans advanced down Queen (since Pearl)
street; the British embarking on board their fleet on East river, I believe, near Whitehall, and the Americans headed
[12]
[13]
[14]
directly to Fort George, on the point where the Battery now is. Stockades were around the fort, and the large gate was
opened. When the British evacuated the fort, they unreefed the halyards of the tall flag-staff, greased the pole, so that it
was some time before the American flag was hoisted. At length, a young soldier[5] succeeded in climbing the pole,
properly arranged the halyards, when up ran the striped and star-spangled banner, amid the deafening shouts of the
multitude, that seemed to shake the city. It is easier to imagine than to describe the rejoicing, and the brilliancy of the
fireworks that evening.
[5] The editor, while at Saratoga Springs, in 1838, took occasion to visit the venerable Anthony
Glean, who resided in the town of Saratoga, and who was reputed to be the person who climbed the
greased flag-staff at the evacuation of New York, and who himself claimed to have performed that
feat. He was then a well-to-do farmer, enjoying a pension for his revolutionary services, and lived
two or three years later, till he had reached the age of well-nigh ninety. The newspapers of that
period often referred to him as the hero of the flag-staff exploit, and no one called it in question. Back
After the evacuation, Mr. Forman witnessed the affectionate and affecting parting of Washington and his officers, when
he entered a barge at Whitehall wharf, manned by sea captains in white frocks, who rowed him to the Jersey shore, to
take the stage for Philadelphia, on his way to Congress. Mr. Forman also saw General Washington while presiding over
the convention of 1787, to form a Constitution for the new Republic. The general was attired in citizen’s dress—blue
coat, cocked hat, hair in queue, crossed and powdered. He walked alone to the State House, the place of meeting, and
seemed pressed down in thought. A few moments before General Washington took his seat on the rostrum, the
venerable Dr. Franklin, one of the Pennsylvania delegates, was brought in by a posse of men in his sedan, and helped
into the hall, he being severely afflicted with palsy or paralysis at the time. On the adoption of the Constitution, a great
celebration was held in New York to commemorate the event, which Mr. Forman also witnessed. A large procession
was formed, composed of men of all avocations in life, and each represented by some insignia of his own trade or
profession, marching through the streets with banners, flags, and stirring music. A full-rigged vessel, called “The Federal
Ship Hamilton,” was drawn in the procession, and located in Bowling Green, where it remained until it fell to pieces by
age.
After spending some years as a clerk in mercantile establishments in New York City, and once going as supercargo to
dispose of a load of flour to Charleston, he engaged in merchandising at Middletown Point, New Jersey. Mr. Forman
subsequently made the journey down the Ohio and Mississippi, in 1789-’90, as given in considerable detail in the
narrative which follows. While spending the winter of 1792-’93 in Philadelphia, he witnessed the inauguration of
Washington as President, at the beginning of his second term of office, and was within six feet of him when he took the
oath of office. “I cast my eyes over the vast crowd,” says Major Forman, “and every eye seemed riveted on the great
chief. On Washington’s right sat Chief-Justice Cushing, and on his left Senator Langdon, of New Hampshire. After
sitting a little while in profound silence, the senator arose, and asked the President if he was ready to take the oath of
office. General Washington rose up, having a paper in his left hand, when he made a very short address. Then Judge
Cushing stood up, with a large open Bible before him, facing the President, who laid his hand upon the sacred volume,
and very deliberately and distinctly repeated the oath of office as pronounced by the chief-justice. When Washington
repeated his own name, as he did at the conclusion of the ceremony, it made my blood run cold. The whole
proceedings were performed with great solemnity. General Washington was dressed in deep mourning, for, it was said,
a favorite nephew who had lived at Mount Vernon during the Revolutionary war. He wore his mourning sword. Mrs.
Washington was about the middling stature, and pretty fleshy.”
Mr. Forman now entered into the employ of the Holland Land Company, through their agents, Theophilus Cazenove
and John Lincklaen, to found a settlement in the back part of the State of New York, where that company had
purchased a large body of land. He accordingly headed a party, in conjunction with Mr. Lincklaen, for this purpose,
conveying a load of merchandise to the point of operations, passing in batteaus up the Mohawk to old Fort Schuyler,
now Utica, beyond which it was necessary to open up a road for the teams and loads of goods; lodging in the woods
when necessary, living on raw pork and bread, which was better than the bill of fare at the well-known tavern in that
region, kept by John Dennie, the half Indian—“no bread, no meat;” and one of Dennie’s descendants indignantly
resented being referred to as an Indian—“Me no Indian; only Frenchman and squaw!” At length, May 8, 1793, the
party arrived on the beautiful body of water, since known as Cazenovia Lake, and founded the village of Cazenovia,
where Mr. Forman engaged in felling trees, and erecting the necessary houses in which to live and do business, and in
this rising settlement he engaged in merchandising for several years. He held many public positions of honor and trust;
was county clerk, secretary for over thirty years of a turnpike company; served as major in a regiment of militia early
organized at Cazenovia.
The latter years of his life he spent in Syracuse, where he was greatly respected for his worth, his fine conversational
powers, his social and generous feelings. He lived to the great age of over ninety-seven years, dying August 16, 1862.
His closing years were embittered over the distracted condition of his country, embroiled in fratricidal war, and his
prayer was that the proud flag which he witnessed when it was placed over the ramparts of Fort George, November
25, 1783, might again wave its ample folds over a firmly united American Confederacy. His patriotic prayer was
answered, though he did not himself live to witness it.
NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY
[15]
[16]
[17]
[18]
[19]
G
DOWN THE OHIO AND MISSISSIPPI,
1789-’90.
ENERAL DAVID FORMAN,
[6] of New Jersey, entered into a negotiation with the Spanish minister, Don
Diego de Gardoque, for his brother, Ezekiel Forman, of Philadelphia, to emigrate with his family and sixty odd
colored people, and settle in the Natchez country, then under Spanish authority.
[6] General Forman was born near Englishtown, Monmouth Co., New Jersey. He was, during the
Revolutionary war, a terror to the tories of his region, and as brigadier-general commanded the Jersey
troops at the battle of Germantown. No less than eighteen of the Forman connection were in his
brigade in this engagement. He was subsequently a county judge, and member of the council of state.
He died about 1812. Back
I agreed with General Forman to accompany the emigrating party; and, about the last of November, 1789, having
closed up my little business at Middletown Point, New Jersey, I set out from the general’s residence, in Freehold, with
Captain Benajah Osmun, an old continental captain, who was at that time the faithful overseer of the general’s blacks.
There were sixty men, women, and children, and they were the best set of blacks I ever saw together. I knew the most
of them, and all were well-behaved, except two rather ill-tempered fellows. General Forman purchased some more,
who had intermarried with his own, so as not to separate families. They were all well fed and well clothed.
We had, I believe, four teams of four horses each, and one two-horse wagon, all covered with tow-cloth, while Captain
Osmun and I rode on horseback. After the distressing scene of taking leave—for the general’s family and blacks were
almost all in tears—we sat out upon our long journey. The first night we camped on the plains near Cranberry, having
accomplished only about twelve or fifteen miles. The captain and I had a bed put under one of the wagons; the sides of
the wagon had tenter-hooks, and curtains made to hook up to them, with loops to peg the bottom to the ground. The
colored people mostly slept in their wagons. In the night a heavy rain fell, when the captain and I fared badly. The
ground was level, and the water, unable to run off, gave us a good soaking. I had on a new pair of handsome buckskin
small clothes; the rain spoiled their beauty, and the wetting and subsequent shrinkage rendered them very uncomfortable
to wear.
The next morning we commenced our journey as early as possible. We drove to Princeton, where we tarried awhile,
and all were made comfortable. We crossed the Delaware five miles above Trenton. On arriving at Lancaster, in
Pennsylvania, the authorities stopped us, as we somewhat expected they would do. General Forman had furnished me
with all the necessary papers relating to the transportation of slaves through New Jersey and Pennsylvania. While Judge
Hubley was examining the papers, the servant women informed me that the females of the city came out of their houses
and inquired of them whether they could spin, knit, sew, and do housework, and whether they were willing to go to the
South; so, if the authorities stopped us, they could all soon have new homes. But our colored women laughed at the
Lancaster ladies, who seemed mortified when they learned that we could not be detained.
In Westmoreland county we had a little trouble with a drunken justice of the peace and some free blacks. These free
blacks, as we learned from a faithful old colored woman, furnished the two ill-tempered blacks of our party with old
swords and pistols, but nothing serious grew out of it.
The weather began to grow very cold, the roads bad, and traveling tedious. We encamped one night in the woods,
kindled a fire, and turned the tails of the wagons all inward, thus forming a circle around the fire. Another night we came
to a vacant cabin without a floor; we made a large fire, and all who chose took their bedding and slept in the cabin,
some remaining in the wagons. The captain and I had our beds spread before the fire.
One Saturday evening, we were apprehensive of being obliged to encamp again in the woods. I went ahead, hoping to
find night quarters. I rode up to a log house and went in; it was growing dark, and I began to ask the landlord to
accommodate us for the night, addressing myself to a tall, lean man. Before I got through with my inquiry, he caught me
up in his arms, as if I were merely a small child, and exclaimed: “Mighty souls! if this is not little Sammy Forman,” and,
hugging and kissing me, added, “Why, don’t you remember Charley Morgan? Yes, you can have any thing I have, and
we will do the best we can for you.” This was somewhere in the Alleghany mountains, and here we remained till
Monday, buying wheat, and sending it to mill, and converting a fat steer into meat, so that we were well provided for,
for awhile. This Charley Morgan entered the regular service as a corporal in my brother Jonathan’s company, when he
was a captain, and raised his company in the vicinity of Middletown Point, New Jersey. He could ape the simpleton
very well, and was sent as a spy into the British army, and returned safe with the desired information. I was surprised to
meet him in this far-off mountain region.
Somewhere about Fort Littleton or Fort Loudon, our funds ran out. When we left General Forman, he told me that
Uncle Ezekiel Forman would leave Philadelphia with his family, and overtake us in time to supply our wants. But he did
not start as soon as he expected, and on his way in the mountains the top of his carriage got broken by a leaning tree,
which somewhat detained him, so that we arrived at Pittsburg two or three days before him.
One morning, while in the neighborhood of Fort Littleton or Fort Loudon, I offered to sell my horse to the landlord
where we took breakfast; he kept a store as well as a tavern, and was wealthy. The price of the horse I put very low,
when the landlord asked why I offered him so cheap. I informed him that I was out of funds, and had expected that
[20]
[21]
[22]
Ezekiel Forman, who owned the colored people, would have overtaken us before our means became exhausted. He
replied: “I know your uncle, and I will lend you as much money as you need, and take your order on him, as he will
stop here on his way. Now, step with me to the store.” Pointing to the large piles of silver dollars on the counter in the
store, he said: “Step up and help yourself to as much as you want, and give me your order.” This was an unexpected
favor. When uncle arrived, he satisfied the order.
It had taken us near three weeks to journey from Monmouth to Pittsburg. After our arrival at this place, our first
business was to find situations for our numerous family, while awaiting the rise of the Ohio, and to lay in provisions for
our long river voyage. Colonel Turnbull, late of Philadelphia, and an acquaintance of uncle, politely offered him the use
of a vacant house and store-room, exactly such apartments as were wanted. The colored people were all comfortably
housed also.
The horses and wagons were sold at a great sacrifice—uncle retaining only his handsome coach horses and carriage,
which he took to Natchez on a tobacco boat, which Captain Osmun commanded, and on board of which the colored
field hands were conveyed. These boats were flat-bottomed, and boarded over the top, and appeared like floating
houses. Uncle’s boat was a seventy feet keel-boat, decked over, with a cabin for lodging purposes, but too low to
stand up erect. The beds and bedding lay on the floor, and the insides lined with plank to prevent the Indians from
penetrating through with their balls, should they attack us. We had a large quantity of dry goods, and a few were
opened and bartered in payment for boats and provisions.
On board of the keel-boat, uncle and family found comfortable quarters. Mr. and Mrs. Forman, Augusta, Margaret,
and Frances, aged about nine, eleven, and thirteen, and David Forman and Miss Betsey Church, the latter housekeeper
and companion for Aunt Forman, an excellent woman, who had lived in the family several years, and occasionally took
the head of the table. I and five or six others, two mechanics, and about eight or ten house servants, were also
occupants of this boat.
The family received much polite attention while in Pittsburg. By the time we got prepared for our departure, the Ohio
river rose. We tarried there about a month. Both boats were armed with rifles, pistols, etc. It being in Indian war time,
all boats descending that long river, of about eleven hundred miles, were liable to be attacked every hour by a merciless
foe, oftentimes led on by renegade whites.
Uncle fixed on a certain Sabbath, as was the custom in those days, to embark on ship-board. On that day, the polite
and hospitable Colonel Turnbull, then a widower, gave uncle an elegant dinner, and invited several gentlemen to grace
the occasion with their presence. After dinner, which was not prolonged, we embarked on board our little squadron.
Colonel Wm. Wyckoff, and his brother-in-law, Kenneth Scudder, of Monmouth county, New Jersey, accompanied us
on our voyage. The colonel had been, seven years previous to this, an Indian trader, and was now on his way to
Nashville, Tennessee.
Uncle Forman’s keel-boat, Captain Osmun’s flat-boat, and Colonel Wyckoff’s small keel-boat constituted our little
fleet. The day of our departure was remarkably pleasant. Our number altogether must have reached very nearly a
hundred. The dinner party accompanied us to our boats, and the wharf was covered with citizens. The river was very
high, and the current rapid. It was on the Monongahela where we embarked.
Our keel-boat took the lead. These boats are guided by oars, seldom used, except the steering oar, or when passing
islands, as the current goes about six or seven miles an hour. As the waters were now high, the current was perhaps
eight or nine miles an hour. Before day-break next morning we made a narrow escape from destruction, from our
ignorance of river navigation. We had an anchor and cable attached to our keel-boat. The cable was made fast to small
posts over the forecastle, where were fenders all around the little deck. When it began to grow dark, the anchor was
thrown over, in hopes of holding us fast till morning, while the other boats were to tie up to trees along the river bank.
As soon as the anchor fastened itself in the river bottom, the boat gave a little lurch or side motion, when the cable tore
away all the frame-work around the deck, causing a great alarm. Several little black children were on deck at the time,
and as it had now become quite dark, it could not be ascertained, in the excitement of the moment, whether any of them
had been thrown into the water. Fortunately none were missing. During our confusion, Captain Osmun’s boat passed
ours, a few minutes after the accident, and we soon passed him, he hailing us, saying that he was entangled in the top of
a large tree, which had caved into the river, and requested the small row-boat to assist him. Uncle Forman immediately
dispatched the two mechanics, with the small boat, to his assistance. Osmun got clear of the tree without injury, and the
two mechanics rowed hard, almost all night, before they overtook him. Mrs. Forman and daughters braved out our
trying situation very firmly.
After we lost our anchor, Uncle Forman took a chair, and seated himself on the forecastle, like a pilot, and I took the
helm. He kept watch, notifying me when to change the direction of the boat. When he cried out to me, “port your
helm,” it was to keep straight in the middle of the stream; if to bear to the left, he would cry out, “starboard;” if to the
right, “larboard.” I was not able to manage the helm alone, and had a man with me to assist in pulling as directed. Uncle
Forman and I were the only ones of our party who understood sailor’s terms. Ours was a perilous situation till we
landed at Wheeling; it was the most distressing night I ever experienced.
The next morning, all our boats landed at Wheeling, Virginia, rated at ninety-six miles from Pittsburg. Here we obtained
a large steering oar for the keel-boat, as the strong current kept the rudder from acting, without the application of great
[23]
[24]
[25]
[26]
strength. Having adjusted matters, we set out again. We seldom ventured to land on our journey, for fear of lurking
Indians.
One day, we discovered large flocks of wild turkeys flying about in the woods on shore. The blacksmith, who was a
fine, active young man, asked Uncle Forman to set him on shore, and give him a chance to kill some of them. The little
boat was manned, and taking his rifle and a favorite dog, he soon landed. But he had not been long on shore, before he
ran back to the river’s bank, and made signs for the boat to come and take him on board. When safely among his
friends, he said that he came to a large fire, and, from appearances, he supposed a party of Indians was not far off. He,
however, lost his fine dog, for he dared not call him.
We landed and stopped at Marietta, at the mouth of the Muskingum, where was a United States garrison. Some of the
officers were acquainted with the family. It was a very agreeable occurrence to meet with old acquaintances in such a
dreary place. The young ladies were good singers, and entertained the officers awhile with their vocal music. This night,
we felt secure in sleeping away the fatigues of the journey. Governor St. Clair had his family here. There were a few
other families, also; but all protected by the troops. I believe there was no other settlement[7] until we arrived at Fort
Washington, now Cincinnati, some three hundred miles below Marietta.
[7] Mr. Forman forgot to mention Limestone, now Maysville, Kentucky, some sixty miles above
Cincinnati, an older settlement by some four years than Marietta or Cincinnati. Perhaps it was passed
in the night, and unobserved. And Columbia, too, at the mouth of the Little Miami, about six miles
above Cincinnati, and a few months its senior in settlement. Back
A few hundred yards above Fort Washington, we landed our boats, when Uncle Forman, Colonel Wyckoff, and I went
on shore, and walked up to head-quarters, to pay our respects to General Harmar, the commander of our troops in the
North-western Territory. The general received us with much politeness. As we were about taking leave of him, he
kindly invited us to remain and take a family dinner with him, observing to Uncle, that we should have the opportunity of
testing the deliciousness of what he may never have partaken before—the haunch of a fine buffalo. It being near dining
hour, the invitation was, of course, accepted. As the general and lady were acquainted with Uncle and Aunt Forman in
Philadelphia, they very politely extended their kindness by asking that Uncle, Aunt, and their family, together with
Colonel Wyckoff and Brother-in-law Scudder and Captain Osmun, would spend the next day with them, which was
accepted with great pleasure. General Harmar directed where to move our little fleet, so that all should be safe under
military guard. We then returned to our boats, and conveyed them down to the appointed place.
The next morning, after breakfast, and after attending to our toilets, we repaired to General Harmar’s head-quarters,
where we were all received most cordially. Our company consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Forman, their three daughters, and
Master David Forman, Miss Church, Captain Osmun, S. S. Forman, Colonel Wyckoff, and Mr. Scudder—eleven in
all.
Mrs. Forman and Mrs. Harmar resembled each other as much as though they were sisters. The general invited some of
his officers to share his hospitalities, also, and we had a most sumptuous dinner and tea. Before it was quite dark, we
took leave of our hospitable friends. I had the honor of a seat at the table next to the general. While at dinner, the officer
of the day called on General Harmar for the countersign, so as to place out the sentinels. Captain Kirby,[8] of the army,
who dined with us, was directed by the general to accompany us on our return to our boats. Just before we came to the
sentinel, Captain Kirby asked us to halt, until he could advance and give the countersign, which is done with much
prudence. I sauntered along, and happened to hear the challenge by the guard, and the reply of the captain. The
countersign was, I believe, “Forman.”
[8] Neither the Dictionary of the Army, the MS. Harmar Papers, nor the Journal of Major Denny,
who was then an aide to General Harmar, make any mention of a Captain Kirby. It is probable, that
William Kersey was the officer referred to. He served in New Jersey during the Revolution, rising
from a private to a captaincy by brevet at the close of the war. At this period, early in 1790, he was a
lieutenant. Probably, by courtesy of his rank and title in the Revolution, he was called captain. He
attained that rank the following year; major, in 1794; and died, March 21, 1800. Back
In the morning, Captain Osmun said to me, that, after paying our respects to General Harmar, he wanted me to
accompany him to the quarters of the other officers, as he probably knew all of them; that they were old continental
officers retained in service, and he added: “They all know your brother, Colonel Jonathan Forman,[9] of the Revolution,
and will be glad to see you on his account.” We, accordingly, after our interview with General Harmar, went to their
quarters. They recollected Captain Osmun, and he introduced me, when they welcomed me most cordially, and made
many inquiries after my brother.
[9] Jonathan Forman was born October 16, 1755; was educated at Princeton College, where he was
a fellow-student with James Madison, and entering the army in 1776 served as captain for five years,
during which he participated in Sullivan’s campaign against the hostile Six Nations; and, promoted to
the rank of major in 1781, he served under La Fayette in Virginia; and early in 1783 he was made a
lieutenant-colonel, and continued in the army till the end of the war. He headed a regiment against the
whisky insurgents of West Pennsylvania in 1794, and two years later he removed to Cazenovia,
N. Y., where he filled the position of supervisor, member of the legislature and brigadier-general in
the militia. He married Miss Mary Ledyard, of New London, Conn., who “went over her shoe tops in
blood,” in the barn where the wounded lay, the morning after Arnold’s descent on New London and
Fort Griswold, on Groton Heights, where her uncle, Colonel William Ledyard, was killed in cold
blood after his surrender. General Forman died at Cazenovia, May 25, 1809, in his sixty-fourth year,
[27]
[28]
[29]
[30]
and his remains repose in the beautiful cemetery at that place. Back
I think it was in the autumn of 1790 that General Harmar was defeated by the Indians, and most of these brave officers
were killed. At that period officers wore three-cornered hats, and by that means nearly all of them were singled out and
killed, as they could be so easily distinguished from others.
Some distance above Fort Washington, the Scioto river empties into the Ohio. Near this river was a cave, which the
whites had not discovered till after Harmar’s defeat. Here the Indians would sally out against boats ascending the Ohio.
A canoe passed us the day before we passed the Scioto, which had been fired into at that point, one man having been
shot through the shoulder, another through the calf of the leg, while the third escaped unhurt. When these poor fellows
arrived at Fort Washington, they waited for us. After our arrival, understanding that we were going to tarry a day, they
set off. Harmar’s defeat caused a French settlement near the Scioto to be broken up;[10] some of them were killed by
the Indians.
[10] The Gallipolis settlement was much annoyed by the Indians; some of the poor French settlers
were killed, others abandoned the place, but the settlement was maintained, despite all their trials and
sufferings. Back
I must mention an anecdote about my friend, Captain Osmun. At the battle of Long Island, and capture of New York
by the British, many American prisoners were taken, Captain Osmun among them. He pretended to be a little
acquainted with the profession of physic, but he never studied it, and could bleed, draw teeth, etc. A German officer
had a very sick child, the case baffling the skill of all the English and German physicians, and the child’s recovery was
given up as hopeless. At last it was suggested to call in the rebel doctor. So Osmun was sent for. He suppressed as well
as he could his half-comical, half-quizzical expression, and assumed a serious look; felt of the child’s pulse, and merely
said he would prepare some pills and call again. He accordingly did so, giving the necessary directions, and promised to
call at the proper time to learn the effect. When he called the third time the child had grown much better, and finally
recovered. He said that all he did for the little sufferer was to administer a little powder-post, mixed up with rye-bread,
made into little pills. He said he knew they could do no harm, if they did no good, and regarded himself as only an
instrument in the hands of the Almighty in saving the child’s life. The father of the child gave him almost a handful of
guineas. Prior to this occurrence he had, while a prisoner, suffered for the necessaries of life, but thenceforward he was
able to procure needful comforts till his exchange.
The next morning, after our entertainment by General Harmar and lady, we renewed our journey, floating rapidly down
the Belle Riviere. Nothing of moment occurred till our arrival at Louisville, at the Falls of the Ohio. The weather now
grew so severely cold, in the latter part of January, 1790, that the river became blocked with ice. Here we laid up,
disembarked, and took a house in the village, the front part of which was furnished for a store, which exactly suited us,
and which was gratuitously offered to Uncle Forman by a Mr. Rhea, of Tennessee. We were remarkably fortunate in
this respect, both here and at Pittsburg.
Here I opened a store from our stock of goods, and took tobacco in payment, which was the object in bringing the
merchandise. Louisville then contained about sixty dwelling-houses. Directly opposite was Fort Jefferson,[11] which
was, I believe, only a captain’s command. At the Great Miami was Judge Symmes’s settlement,[12] which dragged
heavily along at that time, having been allowed only a sergeant’s command for its protection.
[11] This is evidently an error of memory; it was known as Fort Steuben, located where
Jeffersonville now is. Back
[12] Trivial circumstances sometimes change the fate of nations, and so it would seem they do of
cities also. North Bend might have become the great commercial metropolis of the Miami country,
instead of Cincinnati, but for an affair of the heart, if we may credit the tradition preserved by Judge
Burnet in his Notes on the North-western Territory. Ensign Francis Luce had been detailed, with a
small force, for the protection of the North Bend settlement, and to locate a suitable site for a block-
house. While the ensign was keenly but very leisurely on the lookout for a proper location, he made a
discovery far more interesting to him—a beautiful black-eyed lady, the wife of one of the settlers.
Luce became infatuated with her charms, and her husband, seeing the danger to which he was
exposed if he remained where he was, resolved at once to remove to Cincinnati.
The gallant ensign was equal to the unexpected emergency, for he now began to discover what he
had not discovered before, that North Bend was not, after all, so desirable a locality for the
contemplated block-house as Cincinnati, and forthwith apprised Judge Symmes of these views, who
strenuously opposed the movement. But the judge’s arguments were not so effective as the sparkling
eyes of the fair dulcinea then at Cincinnati. And so Luce and his military force were transplanted in
double-quick time to Cincinnati; and where the troops were the settlers congregated for their
protection and safety. And so, the Queen City of the West followed the fortunes of this unnamed
forest queen, who so completely beguiled the impressible ensign.
In this case there was no ten years’ war, as in the case of the beautiful Spartan dame, which ended in
the destruction of Troy; but, by Luce’s infatuation and removal, North Bend was as much fated as
though the combined Indians of the North-west had blotted it out of existence. Soon after this
portentious removal, Luce, on May 1, 1790, resigned from the army—whether on account of his fair
charmer, history fails to tell us. This romantic story has been doubted by some, but Judge Burnet
was an early settler of Cincinnati, and had good opportunities to get at the facts; and when I met the
judge, fully forty years ago, he seemed not the man likely to indulge in romancing. That General
Harmar, in forwarding Luce’s resignation to the War Office, seemed particularly anxious that it
[31]
[32]
[33]
should be accepted, would seem to imply that, for this intrigue, or some other cause, the general was
desirous of ridding the service of him. Back
Besides Symmes’, there was no other settlement between Cincinnati and Louisville, except that of a French gentleman
named Lacassangue, a few miles above Louisville, who began a vineyard on the Indian side of the river; and one day
Indians visited it, killing his people, and destroying his vines.[13] Mr. Lacassangue was a polite, hospitable man, and
gave elegant dinners.
[13] Michael Lacassangue, a Frenchman of education, settled in Louisville as a merchant prior to
March, 1789, when General Harmar addressed him as a merchant there. He located a station on the
northern shore of the Ohio, three miles above Fort Steuben, now Jeffersonville, where he had
purchased land in the Clark grant. In a MS. letter of Captain Joseph Ashton, commanding at Fort
Steuben, addressed to General Harmar, April 3, 1790, these facts are given relative to the attack on
Lacassangue’s station. That on the preceding March 29th, the Indians made their attack, killing one
ma...
